


The Last Laugh

by Illeana Starbright (SunlightOnTheWater)



Series: Justice League Beginnings [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman Begins (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-09 09:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3245132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlightOnTheWater/pseuds/Illeana%20Starbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven months after the League of Shadows failed to take over Gotham, a sinister new villain arises to test the vigilantes of Gotham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_"Don't take life too seriously. You'll never get out of it alive."-Elbert Hubbard_

* * *

The woman looked as if someone had beaten her with a blunt object, broken bones and bruises littering her fair skin. Blood trickled in a thin stream from one corner of her mouth, which had been split further across her face by a knife. It gaped open in a hideously terrified smile. In one outstretched hand was a single bloodstained playing card; the joker. The former Captain Jim Gordon, recently promoted to lieutenant, stood over the corpse while his partner, Sarah Essen, studied their surroundings. A local CSI was crouched over the body, the flash of her camera bright in the dim shadows of the alley. This was the third murder in the past week, each one accompanied by a playing card. So far the police had no leads.

Jim found himself searching the dark sky above him for any sign of Gotham's local vigilante. Ever since the events seven months ago, Batman had become something of a hero for the locals of the Narrows and a target for Gillian Loeb's police department. The mysterious vigilante rarely spoke, although his brightly colored sidekick was, for the most part, the epitome of chatty. The vigilante occasionally helped Jim and Sarah on cases but, for the most part, avoided any interaction with the police department; especially since Loeb had put out a warrant for the man's arrest.

As if reading Jim's mind, Sarah asked "Do you think we'll see our nighttime friend tonight?"

"No idea," Jim replied, lifting his cap and running a hand through his hair. He had hoped to have this case wrapped up by tonight to prevent any more killings and so he could go to Babs gymnastics meet in three days. "They've been busy cleaning up the revival of Falcone's mob." Sarah heaved out a sigh and turned to the crime scene tech, Aaron Walker. Walker was getting closer to retirement every year but the running joke was that the sun would burn out before Walker retired. The man loved his job, and was the best of the best at it.

"Any luck?" Sarah asked, propping a hand on her hip. The engagement ring on her right hand sparkled in a thin shaft of moonlight creeping between to thick grey clouds. Sarah's boyfriend of two years had proposed just a week ago and the pair were making plans to move to New York as soon as the woman finished up this case. Jim would be sad to see her go. Sarah had been an amazing partner for seven months and she was one of the few clean cops in Gotham.

"It's the same as the other crime scenes," Walker replied, standing and wincing a little as his joints crackled unhappily. "No DNA, no sign of rape. The beating was administered before death but I would guess that the mouth was cut postmortem." Sarah scowled, irritated by the lack of evidence.

"What kind of psycho are we dealing with here?" she muttered, fishing in the pocket of her jacket for a carton of cigarettes. She pulled one out and then offered the carton to Jim who waved it off. "Trying to quit?"

"To set a good example for Barbara," Jim said, shoving his hands in his pockets. Even in the summer, Gotham at night was chilled by the breeze coming off the ocean.

Sarah hummed in acknowledgement and rocked back on her heels a little. "Think there's some way we can get the big bat's attention?"

"Not without getting in trouble with the boss." Sarah nodded in rueful agreement before heading back towards the squad car, Jim on her heels. The officers who had found the body were interviewing people in the apartments nearby. That meant Sarah and Jim needed to get back on patrol for the evening.

* * *

The tumbler, that Dick was attempting to rename the Batmobile regardless of Bruce's wishes, rumbled out into the night. The boy in question was all but bouncing in his seat, blue eyes sparkling behind the white lenses of his new mask. He hadn't been allowed out for three weeks waiting for his broken arm to heal. A thug had gotten lucky early in the month, leaving Leslie Thompkins, who was newly introduced to what Bruce and his adopted son did during the nights, to patch the boy up. "Is Selina back?" he questioned as they zoomed towards the Narrows. Selina Kyle, also known as Catwoman had been one of the first people the duo had tangled with after the mess involving Scarecrow and the League. She was a jewel thief, for the most part, and a wanderer. She'd also done some of the most blatant flirting with Bruce that Dick had ever seen, and that had included the ever increasing amount of high society events the pair were forced to attend.

"No." In contrast to Dick's bright teasing, Bruce's voice was dark and laced with annoyance. Selina got under his skin in a way few others had ever managed and, for his part, he was glad the woman had left Gotham for the time being.

"Darn." The boy pouted for a moment before allowing his grin free reign again. "So what's the problem tonight?"

"We're cleaning up the last of Falcone's former gang," Bruce replied, taking a left down a grimy looking street.

"The docks?"

"The docks," Bruce agreed, the tumbler jerking to an abrupt stop. "You're three weeks out of practice. Stay close to me and don't do anything reckless."

"Got it," Dick agreed, scrambling out of the vehicle. "Not get moving old man. We don't have all night." Bruce snorted but followed the boy out into the shadows. According to Bruce's research, the last few brave members of Carmine Falcone's gang who hadn't faded into the woodwork could be found at the warehouse a block from their current location trying to strike a deal with a man named Oswald Cobblepot, more commonly known on the street as the Penguin for his waddling walk and the sound of his honking laugh.

The pair headed for the roof, still the best way to get around in Gotham. The local criminals still didn't normally remember to check the skies for an enemy swooping in from above and there were a number of rooftop entrances in the warehouses around this area. Dick was always the more graceful of the two in flight, body trained from a young age to soar almost weightlessly through the air. Bruce's own body was too bulky and untrained to pull off the flips and twists his adopted son did but by now he was at least proficient. His first forays into flight had resulted in a variety of bruises, scrapes, and pulled muscles that had eventually tapered off as he had become more comfortable with the action.

He landed softly on the rooftop next to Dick and the boy shot him a wide grin before rising and heading towards the locked trapdoor on the roof. Skilled fingers made quick work of the lock and the boy moved aside to let Bruce ease open the door. They dropped down from the sky into the middle of the meeting moments later, sending criminals scattering. The bright colors on Dick's costume made it relatively easy to keep track of the boy during a fight that was simple compared to facing any member of the League. Within the span of a few busy minutes, the rest of Falcone's gang and some of Penguin's were hanging from the rafters, completely unconscious. A discrete call to the police from a few blocks away would ensure that they were taken in before the sun rose.

"Mission accomplished," Dick chirped with a bright smile, unfazed when Bruce didn't reply. The boy started humming the _Mission Impossible_ theme as they made their way out of the warehouse, continuing to do so until Bruce nudged his head down a little to get him to stop. That earned him a little snicker but then blessed silence for a few moments. Then, "So what's next?"

"Do I look like a psychic?" Bruce questioned dryly, using one of Dick's regular lines. The boy huffed at him and folded his arms over his skinny chest.

"Not funny B."

"I think it is." The boy faked a scowl for a moment, then grinned again.

"We heading for the rooftops?" Bruce nodded and the boy let out a little cheer. A cartwheel in front of his guardian completed the triumphant little dance he did before he managed to contain himself. Dick, the man reflected, was sunshine in human form and often looked out of place in the shadows of Gotham. The boy in question had skipped off a few steps before he realized his partner wasn't following. "You coming B or are you going to just stand there and scowl at the wall?"

Bruce's lips quirked up in a thin, barely there smile for just a moment that had Dick's grin widening further. "I'm coming." They'd patrol for a couple of hours, maybe stop a few attempted felonies if anyone was stupid enough to act, and then head back to rest. It would be a good re-introduction for Dick into the Gotham underworld. Once the boy was back in full fighting shape then they could focus on taking down Penguin.

* * *

Jim and Sarah were heading in for the night when Gotham decided to dump another frightful surprise in their laps. It started with a call in from an apartment complex near the docks. When the two arrived, the shaken land lady led them to an apartment with the dock gaping open. Inside lay another beaten body, this one a small child with blonde hair. In her hand lay another joker card but that was what caught their attention. Instead it was the words finger painted on the wall in the girl's own blood. _Where oh where has the little Bat gone. Oh where, oh where can he be?_ Jim swallowed hard enough that his throat clicked and then stepped out of the room to radio for backup as Sarah moved carefully around the small body to clear the rest of the apartment. Both of their minds were whirring, trying to come up with some way they could get Batman's attention.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Not my circus, not my monkeys."-Polish Proverb  
_

* * *

"In more pressing news, there were two more bodies found in the series of what is being called the Joker Killings. The most recent body, six year old Cassie Long, was found accompanied by a message demanding to where Gotham's local vigilante is. The police are not releasing any information at this time." Bruce watched newswoman Beth Carmichael, organize her papers and flash a brilliant smile at the camera. Her partner for the morning news, Robert Cole, then moved on to another story but Bruce was no longer paying attention. Next to him, curled up with a box of far too sugary cereal, Dick was gaping at the screen.

"Did somebody really just call you out B?" the boy asked once he got his expression under control. "I mean, how stupid is this guy?"

"Some people have a distinct disparity of common sense Master Dick," Alfred commented, plucking the box of cereal out of the boy's hand with a disapproving look.

"You've got that right Alfie," Dick chirped, unfazed by the butler's disapproval.

"See what you can dig up on this," Bruce ordered, standing and allowing Alfred to take his empty coffee cup. "Then you can give me a full report when I get back from work."

"You've got it boss," Dick called after him, leaning over the back of the couch to wave good-bye to his guardian. Bruce smiled back and then headed out the door before he was late. He might have a reputation to uphold in the public eye but part of that reputation was not going to be someone who didn't care about his company. He couldn't bring himself to disgrace his parent's memory in that way.

* * *

The more Dick learned about the dark inner workings of Gotham, the more horrified and bemused he found himself becoming. The people who lived in this city were absolute nutcases. Some of them, like an old woman who regularly reported that a cougar was wandering around in her house (the cougar was really her fat house cat), were harmless but a lot of them, like whoever was doing the Joker Killings, were just plain sick. The autopsy reports made his stomach churn and he couldn't bring himself to look at the photographs. After reading about how each of the victims had been beaten with crowbars, he found himself afraid that if he looked at the pictures all he would see would be his parents lying like broken rag dolls on the ground while people screamed all around him.

Shaking that thought away, the boy turned his attention towards the shared factors in the killings. Each person had been beaten to death, then had their mouths split into wider smiles by a knife after they were dead. Each one also had been holding a joker card, thus the Joker Killings. The victims had varied in age, race, and gender as well as living quarters. None of them even worked within the same block. There was no pattern, no logical path to follow. With Falcone and the League, Dick had at least known what he was looking for but this was looking like an impossible task.

The boy beat his hand hard against the table, making the laptop jump and the jar of pens rattle. Then he sucked in a deep breath and let out it, calming himself. The killer had left a message for Batman so he obviously expected the vigilante to get into contact with him. Maybe there was some sort of clue there. A brief hacking revealed the almost nursery rhyme phrase the killer had left behind. It made his teeth clench so tightly together that he felt they would crack. It didn't mean anything, just a childish taunt from some sicko beating people to death. Frustration and helplessness made his muscles tighten and his eyes welled over with tears.

Dick shoved the laptop away and buried his head in his arms on top of the desk, sobbing softly. He was going to fail at this; he just knew it. First he'd let his family fall to their deaths and now other people were going to die because he couldn't figure out a pattern. He cried until the tears wouldn't come any more. Then he sat there, head buried in his arms, just feeling exhausted. His sandy eyes drifted shut and his tears dried on his cheeks. Slowly he began to relax, the tension sliding out of his muscles. He still had time. He could figure this out and everything would be okay. He sat up and pulled the computer back towards him, going back to work.

Alfred came to pull him away from his work an hour later, rapping lightly on the doorway. "Lunch is ready Master Dick," the butler said when the boy didn't so much as look up.

"I'm not hungry," Dick mumbled, scribbling down theories and ideas and possible connections before scratching them out again.

"I'm afraid I must insist that you eat," Alfred replied, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You are a growing boy."

"I have to work Alfred," Dick protested. "I have to figure this out." His voice was desperate and his hands were shaking over the keyboard. He couldn't stop, not while there were innocent people in danger.

"Master Dick-" Alfred said gently but the boy was already shaking his head.

"No." The boy leaned over the laptop and went back to work. Alfred left the room silently but Dick could practically feel the disapproval radiating off the man. Forty minutes later Bruce walked into the room and simply picked Dick up out of the chair. The boy kicked back hard with his bare feet despite knowing that it wouldn't do him any good. Frustrated tears poured down his cheeks as he went limp in Bruce's hold. His guardian placed him down in an armchair and then crouched in front of him, gently tipping Dick's chin so they were looking in each other's eyes.

"What's wrong?" Bruce asked. For a moment the boy struggled to push his emotions down. Then the dam broke and he was sobbing, lunging forward to cling to Bruce.

"I can't, I can't, I can't," he whimpered into the man's quickly dampening shirt.

"It's okay," Bruce soothed, hand running through the boy's hair.

"No it's not," Dick protested. "I can't do this. I can't, I can't." He pulled in a shuddering breath and clung tighter. "I'm going to fail them all."

"You're not," Bruce reassured him. "I know you don't believe it know but you'll figure it out. And none of this is your fault. It doesn't lay on your shoulders to discover who is doing this or to stop them." Dick nodded but he couldn't stop the tears from pouring down his cheeks. Bruce held him until he calmed down, breath still hitching a little but out of tears. The boy felt exhausted by the events of the day despite the fact that it was just past noon, his eyes dry and sandy from the crying. His muscles ached like he was developing a fever and his throat was dry. He didn't protest when Bruce tucked the boy into bed, pulled the thick curtains closed, and then softly shut the door, leaving him to drift off into exhausted sleep.

* * *

The beginning of the night shift brought another brutal murder to Sarah and Jim's attention. The blonde was visibly irritated by the entire situation, ready to move to Chicago and start over away from the corruption and darkness of Gotham. Jim didn't blame her. This case was the most difficult one he had ever seen, no obvious pattern in the choice of victims though they were all linked by the cards. The mocking message was worrisome. If the killer thought he or she could take down Batman then they weren't entirely sane. That was not unusual news for Gotham but it never was a good sign. "Where do all these psychos come from?" the blonde demanded, hands on her hips as a CSI looked over the body.

"Nothing that differs from the other bodies," the CSI said, standing and allowing two crime scene techs to slide the body into a body bag. "There is another message from the killer to Batman in the next room. I have a sample to send in to the lab but I'm fairly certain it's written in the victim's blood."

"Thank you Sandy," Jim told the tired eyed woman who nodded at him and then left the room. "Want to go check out the latest message?" Jim asked Sarah who nodded and shoved her hands into her pockets. Together they made their way into the room the CSI had indicated, studying the words written in messy, almost childish, scrawl on the faded and peeling wallpaper. _Gotham City's falling down, falling down, falling down. Gotham City's falling down, oh poor Batty._

"This guy's a real wack job calling out Batman like this," Sarah said. "God, I need a smoke."

"Go ahead," Gordon said, gently waving her off. "I'm going to look around, see if maybe we missed anything. Once I'm done I'll meet you by the car."

"Thanks Jim," the blonde replied, face relaxing into a smile. She patted his shoulder before exiting the room, leaving him alone.

Jim stepped closer to the words, frowning at the nursery rhyme taunt. This was the second time the killer had used a modified a childhood rhyme or chant to get a message across. It was one of the things, aside from the joker card in the hand of each victim, that set this killer apart from other murderers in Gotham. A sudden rustle behind him drew the cop's attention and he turned to see Batman ensconced in shadows standing near the door. Robin was conspicuous by his absence and Jim found himself worrying, despite the fact that he attempted more than one time to convince the vigilante to leave his small partner at home. A child should not have been allowed to fight crime in a gaudy costume in the first place but it quickly became apparent that Robin was not going to be deterred.

"Where's Robin?" he asked and Batman studied him for a moment, eyes inscrutable underneath the white lenses of his cowl.

"Resting," the man replied at last. Batman was not one for using ten words when two, or considerably less, would do.

Knowing he wouldn't get any more information from the vigilante, Jim turned towards business. "What do you think about all this?"

"No clear motive or pattern," Batman replied gruffly.

"Yes," Jim agreed. "But whoever the killer is, they're clearly trying to call you out."

"They'll show their face soon enough," was the rumbled reply.

"What makes you say that?" Jim asked but got no reply. He turned around and then scowled because Batman had vanished. "Typical," the cop muttered, shaking his head and leaving the room to join Sarah at the squad car down below.

* * *

Dick roused to Bruce running a hand through his sweaty hair. He felt dazed and confused, unsure of what time it was or what was going on. "Bruce?" he slurred out, struggling to keep his eyes open. He didn't like the distant, closed off expression on his guardian's face. Something was wrong but the fever was making it difficult to remember why he might be upset.

"Everything's okay," the man soothed, hand stilling.

"Ya' sure?" the boy questioned, eyes drifting closed.

"I'm sure," Bruce replied, his voice empty. The boy drifted off to sleep before he could fully grasp why that made him feel so uneasy. Bruce remained for several hours, watching the boy sleep and twisting the problem of the killer around in his brain. He found himself glad that Dick was sick and hadn't been able to witness the gristly finger painting on the wall. It wasn't something his adopted son needed to see.


	3. Chapter 3

_"The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist." - Roger "Verbal" Kint in The Usual Suspects_

* * *

Kate Kane frowned as the morning news anchor, Beth Carmichael, finished speaking about the latest death in the series of Joker Killings, mentioning that once again the killer had made a reference to Batman. The red head wasn't an idiot. Since the night when several ninjas had threatened her family, insisting she take a message to Bruce about Batman, she'd put two and two together. While she hadn't confronted him about it, Kate was certain that Bruce Wayne was Batman. That meant the little boy who'd been running around as Robin, something that had been mostly kept quiet in the media, was really Dick Grayson. Most of the time, that thought amused her, but right now she was worried.

Her cousin and his adopted son seemed to be up against a lunatic. The killer had already ended the lives of five people this week and she had no doubt that the death toll would continue to rise. Sitting around when someone she cared for was in danger was not in Kate's nature. The need to help was burning underneath her skin, but she had no idea how. She hadn't had extensive martial arts training so she doubted she would be at all helpful running around in a costume. Still, the idea had merit. Kate had been on her gymnastics team from the time she was in elementary school all the way through college and three years of expensive ballet lessons had made her graceful and able to flip or twist out of the way of potential danger. Kate doubted she would ever be to fly across the rooftops with the easy grace of Robin but she could manage.

"Kate?" Her mother's voice drew her attention back to what was going on around her. The red head turned to see her mother sitting in her wheelchair, watching her almost warily. "What are you planning?"

"Nothing," Kate replied as innocently as she could, but she could tell that her mother was not convinced.

"I know you Katherine Kane," came the swift reply. "And I know what that look means. You're planning something." Kate didn't reply, knowing she couldn't explain that she was giving serious consideration to the idea of getting a costume and running around at night with Batman and Robin regardless of the consequences. "Just promise me you'll stay safe," her mother said after a moment.

"I promise," Kate said, leaning over to kiss her mother's cheek before heading upstairs. If she was really going to do this, and the idea was getting more tempting by the minute, she had some planning to do.

Kate settled in her chair in front of her desk and pulled out a fresh piece of paper, sketching almost absently. She was, to be honest, a fairly terrible artist, but at one point during college she had been forced to take a costume design class as one of her gen eds. The result was she could draw vaguely human forms. In an hour and a half she had a costume design that she could work with. It even had a cape. Now all she had to do was put it together. Carefully she folded the paper and stood, slipping on her shoes and headed downstairs. She had places she needed to go if she was going to get this costume made.

* * *

Dick had gotten the flu almost overnight. While the boy hadn't contracted a strain with vomiting as one of the symptoms, he was wracked with chills and could barely keep his eyes open. Bruce was almost glad for that. After what he'd seen last night, Bruce wanted to keep his adopted son far away from Gotham's latest killer. The last thing he wanted was for Dick to be hurt, or killed, by whoever was leaving a gristly trail of bodies behind them. The illness would keep the boy away from a case that had already stressed him to the point of tears. "Will you be gone out tonight Master Bruce?" Alfred questioned as the man rose from his position at the side of the bed and headed for the door.

"I will be," he confirmed, casting one last glance at the restlessly sleeping boy.

"Then I suggest you arrive at work on time," the man who'd raised him after the deaths of his parents said pointedly. Bruce couldn't help but smile at that and he nodded at Alfred before slipping by him and descending the stairs. Ever since he had successfully taken control of Wayne Enterprises, he'd been forced to spend more and more time at work. The result was that for a while he had gone directly from work to the caves below the manor, transitioning from the public persona of Bruce Wayne to the darker persona of Batman. It had put strain on his relationship with Dick until he'd finally managed to find balance, partially by informing Edith, his elderly secretary, that he would be leaving at five thirty every day unless there was an emergency that absolutely could not wait.

Edith had worked for Bruce's father and was tougher than a barrel full of nails. The result was that most days Bruce was leaving the office by five thirty. That meant he had plenty of time to help Dick with homework, or just listen to the boy chatter about his day or what he'd discovered after the tutor had left. The strain between them had faded away and they'd settled into a routine the last few months. Unfortunately, their routine had just been shattered between the Joker Killings and Dick catching the flu.

Bruce felt just a little bit off all day. His work was tedious as usual, except for a meeting with Lucius Fox about some recent technological advancements, and his mind kept moving between Dick and the killer. Those two worries hummed within him, making the passing minutes feel like hours. By the time he returned home, the day felt as if it should have been long over. Still, he couldn't just stop there. Bruce Wayne's day might be over but Batman's was just about to begin. He checked on Dick, ate a quick dinner, and headed down to the cave despite Alfred's disapproving look. He needed to find this killer, preferably before anyone else died and Dick was back on patrol.

* * *

By this point in their lives, Sarah Essen and Jim Gordon were used to seeing strange things. Gotham had always housed the weirdest crimes in the United States, if not the world, so as a cop you adjusted to seeing strange and gruesome things. This was no exception. The Hammond family had owned a modest home tucked away among the shambling apartment buildings on the edge of the Narrows. Now that they were all dead, the home would probably be sold and turned into some soon to fail restoration project. At the moment though, it was a crime scene.

Whoever had killed the Hammonds, and judging by the Joker playing card it was just another in the recent series of murders, had set them up like they were some kind of grotesque sideshow to a carnival. Sarah desperately needed a smoke to deal with this. "Where's the Bat?" she asked, voice gruffer than usual, and Jim shrugged.

"I don't exactly have a way to summon him," Jim replied with more patience in his response than her question had probably merited. Sarah nodded, as close to an apology as she could get while her fingers were trembling for a smoke, and turned back towards the crime scene. She swore, startled, by what she saw. As if summoned by the very mention of him, Batman was standing in the center of the room studying the arrangement of the bodies. "Batman," Jim said calmly, as if he were used to the masked vigilante appearing out of thin air. He probably was. Jim had always had more interactions with the vigilante than Sarah had.

"Gordon," the vigilante replied calmly. "Essen," he added after a moment. She nodded, too startled to articulate anything properly at the moment.

"Any luck finding our killer?"

"Not yet," the Bat replied. Sarah couldn't help but feel that he sounded angry. She understood the feeling. This guy was killing people and they hadn't got a clue who it was. The frustration was overwhelming.

Jim nodded, accepting that, and walked Batman through the crime scene. The vigilante did not seem surprised by anything Sarah's partner was telling him, and that was very interesting. That anyone would know the basics of how to analyze a crime scene, likely without any police training judging by what she'd seen of the footage of the vigilante in action, was interesting. She found her mind wandering away from trying to discover the identity of the Joker Killer and towards the mystery that was Batman. The vigilante had appeared suddenly, just when Gotham had needed him the most. No one knew who he was or where he had come from. It was the kind of mystery that would keep someone up at night if they thought about it for too long.

Sarah tuned back into the current situation in time to hear Jim wish Batman good luck. The masked vigilante nodded once and then practically vanished into thin air. "This town just keeps getting stranger," Sarah said, shaking her head and finally giving into the urge the get out a cigarette.

"Don't worry," Jim told her. "We'll crack this case open soon and you'll be moving out of here with your fiance in no time."

"I hope so Jim," Sarah replied, heading for the door so she could light up her cigarette. "I really hope so." She wasn't sure she could take much more craziness before snapping herself. The last thing Gotham needed was yet another crazy running around.

* * *

Dick blinked open heavy eyelids at a sudden wash of sunlight over his face. The boy groaned and tried to burrow further under his blankets before he realized that he actually felt decent. Better than decent really. He felt good. He grinned and bounced upright, rolling out of bed and wobbling on his feet a little before scrambling for the door. He flung it wide open and then nearly jumped through the ceiling in surprise when he discovered Alfred was standing calmly on the other side. "Good morning Master Dick," the butler said, looking completely unfazed.

"Morning Alf," the boy replied with a giggle from the leftover adrenalin. "Where's Bruce? Work already?"

"Master Bruce declined to go into work today," Alfred informed him, sounding distinctly displeased. "Instead he is downstairs."

 _"Oh,_ " Dick said, eyes widening in understanding. "Why don't I go get him?"

"I suspect that would be for the best," the butler replied before turning and walking off down the hall. Dick nodded and scrambled down the stairs and around a corner, entering the study. He made his way down the secret staircase and into the Batcave, the floor cold on his bare feet.

"Bruce?" he called, stepping around a rock formation to take in the view of his adopted father sitting in front of a computer. Bruce made a slight sound of acknowledgement, cowl still up. Dick wasn't sure if the man actually knew who had called his name.

Sighing, the boy padded over to his guardian on bare feet and climbed the side of the chair to push the cowl back. Bruce turned to scowl at him, probably think he was Alfred. Since Dick was looking for it, he caught the small yet surprised widening of Bruce's blue-grey eyes. "Dick?"

"Yeah," he replied with a cheerful grin. "Morning."

"What are you doing out of bed?"

"What are you doing down here?" Dick countered immediately, shifting so he was perched on the edge of the chair. Bruce automatically slipped an arm around him to keep him steady. The man gave him a flat, unimpressed smile at the question and Dick huffed.

"You're no fun."

 _"Dick."_ His name was a warning this time, meaning Bruce was reaching the end of his patience with the boy's antics.

"Fine," the boy sighed out. "I'm better so Alfred sent me down to fetch you. He was wearing his disapproval face too."

"I can't come up," Bruce said, turning his gaze back towards the computer. "I'm working." Dick winced as he caught a glimpse of what he guessed was the most recent killings.

"You're not gonna find the killer if you can't focus," the boy argued. "You need rest. And food."

"Not now Dick."

"Come on Bruce," Dick pleaded but Bruce didn't look at him.

" _Not now_ Dick," the man snapped. Dick sighed, shoulders slumping, and hopped off the edge of the chair, heading back upstairs. Meanwhile, Kate Kane was standing at the front door of her home, signing for a couple very important packages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after several months, I finally have another chapter for this story (which has now been bumped up to five chapters instead of four). Coming, hopefully soon, Kate Kane's first night out as Batwoman and Bruce's first encounter with the Joker.


	4. Chapter 4

_" 'Cause I've got friends in low places/ Where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases/ My blues away and I'll be okay" - Friends in Low Places, Mark Chesnutt_

* * *

A dark figure perched at the edge of one of the brownstones that separated the slums of Gotham from the rich and vibrant city center that most socialites spent their free time in. A red lined cape fluttered around slim shoulders and the curve of breasts and hips. Smooth edges brushed gentle against the concrete roof of the building and low heeled boots, the same red as fresh blood, rested lightly on the thin edge. A vivid red braid curled over an ink black, skin tight spandex suit that covered the slim frame which was staring into the shadows of the city below. Kate Kane lifted a slim hand, covered in a red glove that reached almost to her elbow, up to adjust the mask that was preventing her identity from being common knowledge.

She was particularly proud of that aspect of her costume's design. It was on black piece that covered her nose, eyes, and all but a slim triangle of her forehead as it spiked upwards into two sharp points. That aspect of the mask and the red bat across her chest were the only things that would tie her to the mysterious Batman who haunted the nightmares of Gotham's more prestigious criminals. A belt around her waist, the same red as her boots, the bat, and the liner of her cap, held all the supplies she thought she might need for fighting crime. Among the things stored in those pockets was a portable police scanner. Kate withdrew the scanner and turned it on, rocking back to rest on the balls of her feet while she waited for something to happen.

The first report was a 311, indecent exposure. While that was illegal, it wasn't something that Kate wanted to deal with. In fact, she didn't envy whoever had to take care of that particular problem. The indecent exposure report was followed by a 502, drunk driving, and a 505, reckless driving. Kate shifted, rising a little in an attempt to take some of the strain off of her calves and rolling her neck to release some of the tension that had built up there. She wondered if Batman and Robin did this often, just lingering on rooftops waiting for something to happen that they could actually help with. She doubted that those nights went well because, crime fighter or not, Robin was still a young boy who possessed all the restless energy that young boys seemed to be filled with. It was a wonder that Batman hadn't left him danging by his ankles from some rooftop after a particularly peaceful night.

"This is Officer McDowell calling for backup," a female voice said over the police scanner, breaking Kate free of her pondering. "I have a 245 in progress at the corner of East Street and Lenape Trail."

 _A 245?_ Kate's red painted lips curled into a grin. That was an assault with a deadly weapon, which was definitely something she could help with. Turning off the police scanner and placing it back in its correct pocket before retrieving a grappling hook from another pocket. For a moment she hesitated, stomach churning as she considered what would happen to her if she didn't thrown the hook well enough that it had something good to grab. She could end up toppling to her death and her mother would see her death painted out in gristly details on the morning news. For a moment, Kate almost gave up on being a vigilante. She almost climbed down from the building so she could go home and curl up on the couch watching late night television with her mother. Then she stubbornly set her jaw, twirled the grappling hook a few times and threw it.

The grappling hook sailed out into open space. Kate held her breath, loosing the hook in the darkness. Then something clanged, softly, in the distance and when she tugged on the line it was taught. "Now or never," Kate murmured, blowing out all the air in her lungs. She pulled in another breath and then jumped.

For a moment her stomach felt like it rose up into her throat. She was falling, rushing towards the ground at an incredible speed and she knew that if she hit the ground at this rate, she'd be dead. Then the line pulled taught and Kate's fall turned into a rapid glide forward. Eyes wide behind the slits of her mask so that so didn't hit a building, Kate felt laughter bubble free of her mouth. This was amazing! Her feet smacked hard on to the lower roof of a building on Emerson, just two streets down from East. A wild, excited smile was spread across Kate's face as she jumped the gap between the rooftop she was on and the next. She had an assault with a deadly weapon to stop.

* * *

Bruce was exhausted. He felt like his eyes were full of sand and large yawns kept trying to escape his tightly held control. Still, he didn't have time to rest. Whoever was killing people and leaving joker cards behind would likely strike again soon, and Batman could not allow that to continue happening on his watch. Flexing his fingers in their gauntlets, Bruce slipped into the tumbler, turning it on and rumbling out of the cave. After he had failed to come up with a lead through his research on the computer, he had decided to go ask some questions. As Batman. Surely someone in Gotham's underbelly would know who was killing people, and why.

The Narrows were filled with their normal noise. Drunks stumbled out of seedy looking bars, a few of them waving vaguely at the tumbler as it rumbled by. If Dick was here, he'd be cheerfully waving back. Bruce just pushed down harder on the accelerator, swerving sharply around a corner. He parked a few feet away from the docks, stepping out of the vehicle and launching a line upwards into the shadows, allowing it to carry him to the roof of a building. From there he could see the docks, where several men dressed in various shades of black and grey were waiting near a closed and locked shipping crate. Several of them were holding guns and the rest had handguns or knives somewhere on their person. Bruce crouched at the edge of the rooftop, waiting for their boss to show. Thugs might know a few things, but it was higher ups in the organization that might have the information that he was looking for.

A dark car pulled up to the dock, parking between two crates. The driver stepped out, leaving the door open, and crossed over to the gathered thugs. Bruce waited while the man had the attention of the thugs before dropping down to the ground and approaching the car. Seated in the back of the vehicle was Oswald Cobblepot, up and coming mob boss and proud owner of a couple legitimate clubs. Cobblepot was known by people for his honking laugh, which had earned him the nickname Penguin when he was still a college student. So far he hadn't proved to be too much trouble for the city, mostly focusing on consolidating his power, but Bruce had been keeping a close eye on him, just in case.

Bruce lifted a hand and rapped politely on the window. After a moment, Cobblepot rolled down the window and turned to face the Bat with a professional looking smile, resting both hands on handle of his umbrella. "Can I help you, Batman?" the businessman asked in a nasally voice.

"I have a question for you," Bruce growled back.

"You want to know if I know who's been killing people in the Narrows," Cobblepot replied, not fazed despite the panic of his driver, who had turned around to see that the infamous Batman was speaking to his boss.

"Do you?" Bruce rumbled, eyes narrowed behind the lenses of his cowl.

"If I were interested in dealing with a madman, which I am not, I would investigate the dilapidated remains of the old balloon factory in the Narrows," came the disinterested reply.

Bruce nodded in response and fired a grappling hook into the sky, vanishing into the darkness above him as the driver rushed forward with a loaded gun. Batman had more important things to worry about tonight than whatever business Cobblepot had set into motion. He and Dick could foil the short man's plan when citizens of Gotham were no longer dying in various, horrible ways.

* * *

Kate dusted off her gloves, standing over the unconscious body of the man who'd attempted to shoot a police officer and the owner of one of the few decent groceries in the Narrows. Kate had landed behind the gun and twisted it away in a self-defense move she'd learned in the one self-defense class her mother had insisted she take. The red head had attended ever single session, though she'd forgotten most of what had been taught. If she was going to continue fighting crime at night, she was going to need to brush up on her skills, but tonight she could enjoy the warm feeling that accompanied a job well done.

Officer McDowell, a short brunette with big, brown eyes, was staring at Kate with her mouth open, service pistol dangling limply from one hand. "W-Who are you?" the officer stuttered and Kate smiled.

"I'm Batwoman," she said, wondering what Batman would think when he heard about her. Would he track her down and threaten her or would he be grateful for her assistance. She supposed she'd find out soon enough. Using her gymnastic skills, Kate launched herself into the air, nimbly climbing the building before Officer McDowell realized she should probably lift her gun and attempt to place Batwoman under arrest.

" _You have the right to remain silent_ ," a voice called after her as she jumped across the rooftops, leaving the soon to be under arrest assaulter and the cop far behind.


	5. Chapter 5

_"Don't tell me you're not an inmate. What rational being dresses like you? Speaking of threads, think this is a good look for me?"-Joker, The Bat in the Belfry, The_ _Batman_

* * *

The remains of the old balloon factory was tucked away in a crumbling corner of the Narrows, not far from where Oswald Cobblepot had been conducting his business. Bruce made it there in five minutes, crouching on the edge of an old apartment, ignoring the chips of concrete that dropped off the edge underneath his boots. During the golden age of Gotham, when the Narrows had been part of a thriving industrial sector, Elmer Haywood had managed to get enough investors to open his dream balloon factory. Haywood, the son of a carnival owner, had business smarts but his constant optimism and brilliant imagination had gotten into the way of his sense of realism. The factory had gone belly up in ten years, leaving behind a slowly crumbling wreck behind, sinking into ownership purgatory because city hall had lost the paper explaining who had the rights to the land and building.

Haywood Balloon Factory appeared to be empty. There was no light shining from any of the cracked or shattered windows and no movement that he could see, even with the use of his infrared goggles. Stowing the gadget away, Bruce swung down to the street and walked across it, stepping through a shattered window. His boots crunched on the broken glass, giving away his position, but he was confident that he would find no one on this level. Likely the killer was in the basement of the factory, not on one of the higher, less stable floors on which the man or woman might be able to hear Batman's approach.

Knowing that Dick was likely still awake, despite being under orders from both Alfred and Bruce to rest in order to regain his strength, and that this would go faster if he had a schematic of the building, Bruce removed a small, portable datapad from his utility belt and sent and encrypted message to his adopted son. In five minutes he had every building plan of the factory that had ever existed and a stern note from Dick insisting that he not do anything stupid and reckless. Bruce smiled, so briefly that most people would not have even noticed that such an expression had crossed his face, and swiped the message away, turning his attention to the building plans.

According to the schematics, Haywood had reinforced the basement to the point where it could have acted as a bomb shelter. Since the factory had been built during the Cold War era, this wasn't exactly unusual. Many large buildings of Gotham that were still around that had been built during that time period often had reinforced basements. Since the city was located on the east coast, many of the wealthy had worried that the Soviet Union would strike in cities like Gotham first, killing them and destroying their livelihoods in one horrible stroke, so they had ordered their buildings to be constructed accordingly. Bruce hadn't expected Haywood to have done the same, seeing that it wasn't his money that had put together the factory, but apparently the man had been willing to do anything to protect his dream. That was good. It meant that Bruce had to worry less about the roof dropping on his head as he was facing whoever was down below.

Using the schematics, Bruce made his way across the main floor and levered rubble off of a maintenance hatch that would lead him through a machinery tunnel to the basement. He could take the main stairway, but it might have partially collapsed on itself and, furthermore, that would ruin any chance of him maintaining the element of surprise. He turned the handle and lifted the cap over the tunnel, making his way down the metal rungs and on to the walkway below. Wires and cables in thick bundles lined the walls, likely all inactive. They were remnants of the,at the time, new technology that Haywood had installed when the factory had still been running.

The further down Bruce went, the more the tunnel widened out until he could not stretch his arms out and reach both sides. He navigated using the plans Dick had sent him, avoiding the dead ends that cut off with fans used to keep computers and machines from overheating. The tunnel was only a few hundred feet long and soon Bruce found himself crouching in front of a circular vent cover. Through the metal slats he could see several flickering candles surrounding a bound and unconscious frame of a woman in a black pencil skirt and lavender silk top. Her brown hair was twisted up in a bun and her red glasses were sliding down her nose. Blood matted her loose bangs to her forehead but Bruce could see the reassuring rise and fall of her chest.

Bruce stepped back and then aimed a firm kick that rattled the vent, ancient bolts screeching as they struggled to hold on. A second kick sent it crashing to the ground. He frowned at the noise and jumped softly to the ground as a maniacal cackling noise filled the air. Bruce's eyes narrowed behind the cowl as he scanned the darkness, searching for the source of the sound. He didn't have to search very hard. A man in a purple and yellow shirt, sleeves dangling down to his knees, and a pair of dark green pants. His face appeared to be painted completely white, red lips split in a wild smile to reveal sharp looking yellowed teeth. His hair hung in crazy green tendrils around his face, some of it even sticking out behind his head like he was an electrocuted.

The sound of his laughter roused the bound woman, her head snapping up and her green eyes opening wide. The absurd looking man danced forward, dragging his sleeves along the ground, and then lifted her head up, turning it towards Bruce. "Look who came to help," the man cackled as she tried to flinch away, his spittle landing on her cheeks and chin. "Right on time. That's so kind of the Bat."

"Who are you?" Bruce growled out and the man dropped the woman's face, circling carefully around the candles with more mad laughter.

"You don't know me? I'm hurt." The man reached up one of his long sleeves and pulled out a card, flipping it towards Bruce. "This should serve to introduce me, since you haven't been paying attention to the displays I put together just for you."

Bruce reached out a hand and caught the card, flipping it over. "The joker," he rumbled and the man gave a bow, complete with ecstatic sounding giggles.

"That's me!"

"You're the one who's been murdering innocent people in the Narrows."

"How else to get your attention?" Joker asked with a wide smile. "You're such a hard man to reach." There was a pause and then Joker's grin widened. "You could say it was...driving me _batty_." Joker broke out into peals of wild laughter, saliva spraying from his mouth. Bruce, unimpressed by the pun, aimed a solid punch at Joker's head. The madman dodged, laughter never ceasing as he cartwheeled away. One of the candles was knocked away by a long sleeve, catching it alight, but the clown simply tore the sleeve off, tossing the burning fabric aside. "Uh, uh, uh, Batman," he cooed. "That's not how we play this game."

"Putting innocent people in harm's way is no game," Bruce snarled.

"It sounds like _some_ body doesn't like _games_ ," the Joker mocked with another wild wave of laughter. "That's really too bad. I had such a splendid one set up. Now I'll just have to set off my bomb without giving you a fighting chance."

"Make sense," Bruce growled, tracking the crazy clown with his eyes.

The Joker's grin widened, yellow teeth gleaming in the darkness. "Does that mean you want to play?"

Bruce set his jaw, knowing that if Joker was telling the truth about his bomb, then Batman had no choice but to play along. "I will," he snarled out in his gravelly vigilante tone. "For now."

"Oh goody!" Joker clapped his hands glee. "Let's get started then!"

* * *

Dick refreshed his news pages anxiously, huddled under the covers in hopes that the light coming from his tablet wouldn't catch Alfred's attention if the man decided to look into Dick's room. The boy was hoping to see a breaking news alert accompanied by a headline stating that the murderer committing the joker killings had been caught by Batman. Instead he'd gotten one police report with babbling in it about some new figure calling herself Batwoman, a fact that would have Bruce muttering once he found out, but nothing about the apprehension of a murderer. Dick felt his stomach churn in a way that nothing to do with the bought of flu he'd come down with. This was all centered around anxiety.

Opening the messaging function, Dick typed out a quick question and waiting impatiently for a response. Nothing. Shutting off the tablet, the boy slipped quietly from the bed and crept to the door, opening it a crack. He listened intently but didn't hear the steady footsteps that always signaled Alfred's approach. Hearing nothing, Dick slipped out of his bedroom and headed for the study, footsteps soundless on the thickly carpeted floors. He had to circumvent Alfred once, as the butler was heading towards the boy's room, but Dick managed to slip into another room to avoid detection. He successfully made his way to the Batcave, donning his uniform in silence and almost complete darkness.

The next problem arrived as Dick realized that he didn't have a way to get to Bruce. He had a good idea where Batman was, having sent Bruce the floor plans for the Haywood Balloon Factory, but he couldn't drive yet and, even if he could, the Batmobile was already gone. Dick didn't know what he was going to do, but he knew he needed to do it fast. Alfred had already been on his way to discovering that Dick was no longer in his bed as the boy had made his way down to the cave. It wouldn't take the butler long to figure out exactly where the boy had gone. By the time Alfred made his way down to the cave, Dick needed to be gone.

That thought propelled Dick into the motion. The boy sprinted towards the waterfall, passing through the waterfall just as Alfred's footsteps could be heard on the stairs, the old man descending into the cave. Dick kept running, knowing that if he slowed down Alfred would catch up to him and stop him from leaving. Alfred would insist that Bruce could take care of himself and that Dick should stay home to recover. The boy knew better. Bruce wouldn't think about his own safety while he was protecting Gotham. He would only think of others. Thinking of Bruce's safety was Dick's job, and he wasn't about to fail.

* * *

Kate was perched on another rooftop, waiting for some other incident to be reported. Her first success had buoyed her spirits, as well as sending adrenaline rushing through her veins, making her eager for another go. Her eyes scanned the streets below, searching for someone in distress since her police scanner was producing nothing but disappointment. Her eyes locked on a small, colorful figure racing down the road, yellow lined cape fluttering behind him. _Robin_. She watched as the boy darted around the corner, scanning for Batman. She frowned when the Dark Knight didn't appear and pulled out her grappling hook, tossing it to hook around a gargoyle three rooftops over.

The exhilaration of flying through the air still rushed through the red head, but it was tempered by worry now. Batman had been a fixture in Gotham for only a short time, but everyone already knew that Robin without Batman was a bad sign. It meant that one of the two caped crusaders had run into trouble, and the last thing Kate wanted to do was let a young boy run into that kind of trouble alone. Once she was close enough to the ground, Kate dropped to land smoothly on her feet, leaving the grappling hook dangling from the gargoyle.

Despite her relatively soft landing, Robin spun around with a gasp, shifting immediately into a fighting stance. "Easy there, kiddo," Kate said with a grin, holding her hands out so that he could see that they were empty. "I'm here to help."

Eyes narrowed, the boy studied her for a moment before saying, "You're the one calling herself Batwoman." He sounded sure.

"How do you know?" Kate questioned, lips pulled down in a frown.

"I'm Robin," he replied, a bright grin crossing his face momentarily. "I hacked the Gotham PD database and looked at the police report."

"Oh," Kate said, thrown. "Okay." Robin turned away from her and started running, Kate hurrying after him. "Wait a minute," she called after him. When he hesitated she asked, "Do you want some help?" He didn't respond, biting his lower lip, and Kate played her trump card. "I can drive."


End file.
